


The Way That You're Leading Me Home Like That

by darth_stitch



Series: Coming Home [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: All Aboard the HMS Bagginshield Because It Needs All the Fluff and Happy Endings It Can Get, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Bilbo is just as bad, Everyone lives, Fix-It, Fluff, I blame this on the shameless Richard-Armitage-loving hussies of tumblr bless you all, M/M, Thorin is a hopeless romantic, Yes the Shire was in on this whole disaster, bagginshield, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darth_stitch/pseuds/darth_stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mr. Bilbo Baggins returned from his Great Adventure in Far Off Parts, the adventure and his dramatic arrival at Bag End (just in time to prevent the complete auctioning off of all his belongings), was the talk of the Shire for a good six months.</p>
<p>At the very least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way That You're Leading Me Home Like That

Originally posted at [The Blanket Fort - Darth Stitch on Tumblr](http://darthstitch.tumblr.com/post/43213460650/when-mr-bilbo-baggins-returned-from-his-great)

 

[ ](http://darthstitch.tumblr.com/image/43213460650)

When Mr. Bilbo Baggins returned from his Great Adventure in Far Off Parts, the adventure and his dramatic arrival at Bag End (just in time to prevent the complete auctioning off of all his belongings), was the talk of the Shire for a good six months.

At the very least.

It was also agreed by a great many folk that Bilbo Baggins was very much a changed hobbit.  Never mind the Sackville-Bagginses’ contention that the Baggins who returned was not the real Bilbo, which was, as any person with an ounce of hobbit-sense knew, was all stuff and nonsense and a shameless avaricious bid for Bilbo’s property. 

“Carrion-crows and vultures the lot of ‘em, I say and good riddance!” Hamfast Gamgee would proclaim - still a few more years from being nicknamed _The Gaffer_ but whose opinion was already very much respected in Hobbiton. 

The Bilbo Baggins who came back to the Shire was a lot sadder and quieter,  and while not completely unsociable, he was, by Hobbit standards, more withdrawn.  He was still, however, the same kind and generous soul towards his neighbors and the relatives that he had always been on good terms with.  And thus, of course, they all worried over him. 

Had it not been for the children, Hobbiton and the rest of the Shire might have never found out what happened when Bilbo went away with thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard. 

Confirmed bachelor that he was, Bilbo was rather fond of children and the little ones did know that “Mister Bilbo” was always happy to share a sweet or tell a story if they begged.  And thus, it was the children who coaxed out Bilbo’s story about his adventure, which was filled with dwarves and wizards and dragons and elves and trolls and wargs and goblins and treasure.

_Outlandish! Impossible! Stuff and nonsense!_ At least that was what some of the other hobbits had huffed, the Sackville-Bagginses and Bracegirdles among them. 

But of course, it was Odo Proudfoot who pointed out that Bilbo came home with an honest-to-goodness _sword_ , if one used their eyes to see clearly instead of gabbling about like witless poultry.  “Letter-opener” Bilbo would modestly say, but that blade of his was no toy and of course something worth noting in the Shire, where it was most uncommon for a Hobbit to carry such a weapon.

And it was Charlie Whiskey, who made frequent trips to Bree, who brought back the news that the famed Dragon Smaug who had lived in the Lonely Mountain was no more and that Erebor was once more a Kingdom held by Dwarves.  A great many things were happening in those parts and those who had long memories remembered the beautiful things that the Dwarves of Erebor created and the rich trade brought in by the Men of Dale.  There were a great many Shire households who still had toys and other precious things from Dale, preserved as treasured heirlooms and quiet testament to the quality of Dwarven workmanship and craft. 

Of course, everyone knew Bilbo had been seen bringing home at least two chests of considerable size.  Thus, there were those who remembered that Bilbo did speak to the children about _treasure_.  The Bagginses had always been wealthy but it was apparent that Bilbo was in fact now even more generous to his cousins and many was a neighbor who might have had to tighten their belts for a night invited to a supper.

“I couldn’t possibly finish on my own and it would be a shame to go to waste,” Bilbo claimed and the Widow Phynn, who, with her two boys, had received many of these invitations, blessed the hobbit for it.  She became rather famous in the Shire for her splendid and public dressing-down of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins when the latter made some rather sordid assumptions of what was a perfectly innocent and respectable friendship. 

The good widow kept some rather worried and pointed observations about Bilbo to herself, not wanting to break confidences.  But she wasn’t alone in her opinion, really.  Drogo and Primula Baggins, Bilbo’s newlywed cousins, could see Bilbo’s melancholy and they tried to cheer him with invitations to supper at their own modest little hobbit hole.

“He’s heartbroken, is what he is,” Primula fretted.  “And I do wish we  could help him more, the poor dear hobbit.”

And then, there was the Mersday that the first set of Dwarves came to Hobbiton.

Right down the Road they came, going up to Bagshot Row and then straight to Bag End.  They brought a covered wagon which contained, among other things, two very large and ornate chests, which were stamped by some very odd symbols - a hammer, an anvil and above these, a crown and seven stars. 

Bilbo was rather stunned when one of the Dwarves swept off his odd-looking hat with a flourish, bowed and solemnly presented him with those chests. His companions - one Dwarf of rather considerable girth and the other who was somehow still in the world of the living, despite the axe piece embedded in his head, offered the same rather formal greeting. 

“I cannot possibly take these things, Bofur!”  Bilbo protested.  Evidently, these Dwarves were familiar to him.   
  
“Lad,” said the Dwarf called Bofur.  “It’s best you’d let the giver know about that.  Would be quite rude just to send these back without a word.”  
  
“Then,” said Bilbo determinedly.  “I shall write and you can all bring this lot back where it came from - “

“Can’t - it has to be in person or it would be the gravest sort of insult to a Dwarf.  Though,” and at that Bofur waggled his outlandish braids, “if you be willing to hitch a ride back with us to Erebor, we’d be happy to take you.” 

Those who were discreetly watching behind doors, windows and hedges noted that there was the oddest expression in Bilbo’s eyes and those with sharp hearing caught the hitch in his breath when he said, “I don’t deserve these things, Bofur - you know that.”  
  
“Oh Bilbo,” Bofur said kindly.  “ _He_ said you deserve all of these and more.  He’d have sent the entire treasure of Erebor if he could and at the rate things are going, he just might succeed.”  
  
And so it was that Bilbo found himself playing host to Dwarves once more and over the next few weeks, more Dwarves came, each of them bearing identical chests with the same odd Dwarvish symbols.  And while Bilbo tried to protest at being given all these things, the Dwarves were rather firm that he had to accept and so Bilbo did, however reluctant and flustered it made him.   
  
What was in those chests?  Well, it was obvious, after a while, that it was filled with a considerable amount of treasure - Primula Baggins almost fainted with shock when Bilbo gave her a beautiful silver and sapphire brooch on the day before her birthday, one that was definitely no  _mathom_ or family heirloom.  Similar gifts of jewelry were also given to other cousins for various occasions, to everyone’s wonder and delight.  
  
There was also good quality cloth and silks, good plate and silverware, writing paper of the finest quality, leatherbound notebooks, pens and ink.  There was good wine and fine cheeses.  In short, many of these gifts were quite _familiar_ to the Hobbits, being as they were rather _traditional_ for this sort of business after all, though never with this kind of extravagance. 

Now, after the inhabitants of the Shire got over their collective shock at these Dwarvish visitors, most of them found the Dwarves to be quite agreeable, if a bit odd.  Bombur loved food and was an excellent cook and the goodwives at the Market were only happy to trade recipes with him and to share cooking secrets.  Bofur and Bifur were toymakers and the children adored them and their parents saw, with wonder, that the skill of the Dwarves at making things was no rumor indeed. 

Dori was a fussy dear but very polite and civilized for a Dwarf and the regular crew at the Green Dragon was delighted when he brought in some rather good wine and ale from Dorwinion and Dale.  Ori was a sweetheart and he and the Widow Phynn and Mrs. Roane Cotton over at Bagshot Row promptly adopted the Dwarf as their own and it was Ori who became a rather reliable _source_ when it came to confirming Bilbo’s stories and then some _interesting_ observations of his own.    
  
There was a sudden appearance of high quality game at Bag End, thanks to Nori, who was actually a rather expert hunter and some of the poorer families of Hobbiton found a little extra in their cooking pots come supper or the meat was sold to them at a very fair price indeed.  This, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, could _not_ believe, as she claimed Nori had charged her outrageously but then the Sackville-Bagginses were not exactly in need.   
  
Despite the fact that Oin was a bit hard of hearing, he and Healer Martin Smallburrow and Midwife Periwinkle Proudfoot were quite pleased to share and exchange some very interesting information about herbs, poultices and Oin’s famous _ointment._  
  
Gloin was outraged, on Bilbo’s behalf, at the nasty rumors that the Sackville-Bagginses had spread throughout the Shire and together, he and Hamfast Gamgee set out to correct that. Bilbo was, in fact, a most honored member of their company and his name was rather famous in Erebor, Dale, Mirkwood (and at that Gloin muttered darkly against “bloody, weed-eating Elves”) and Rivendell.  Poor Bilbo sputtered and blushed and protested at this, when he heard but it was rather hard to stop Gloin and Hamfast, who had become the best of friends over several pints of good Dale ale at the Green Dragon, when they got going. 

It only got worse when Balin joined them.  The old Dwarf looked entirely dignified and respectable and was skilled at telling stories.  He managed to enthrall even the most practical, down-to-earth hobbit, with his tales of Dwarven Kings and battles long ago.   
  
The neighborhood was rather frightened of Dwalin when he first arrived, together with his brother Balin.  It was plain as day that the Dwarf belonged on a battlefield, bristling as he was with armor and weaponry, though what need he had of that in the peaceful quiet of the Shire, no one could say.  
  
But it was tiny Emerald Took, declared by everyone in the neighborhood to be both pretty and arbitrary in her opinions, who took one look at the intimidating Dwarven warrior and imperiously demanded that he carry her.   
  
Dwalin took one look in those big Tookish green eyes and was quite unable to say no.  
  
It seemed to be a silent signal for all of the children and soon enough Dwalin ended up joining Bifur and Bofur in being covered by tiny hobbitlings.   
  
But despite all the excitement that was going on in the Shire, the sadness and melancholy never quite left poor Bilbo Baggins.  Primula fussed all the more.   
  
“It isn’t right,” she flared at her husband Drogo.  “Something must be done!”   
  
“Well, we did invite your cousin Fortinbras over for dinner with Bilbo one night but it was rather a disaster, wasn’t it?”  Drogo pointed out mildly.   
  
“That was when I didn’t have all the facts and dear little Ori provided us with a great deal,” said Primula.  She shook her fist, which was firmly holding on to her best wooden spoon.  “Ooooh, the nerve of that — “  
  
“Now dearest,” Drogo placated. “I’m very sure things will sort themselves out in due time.”  
  
He wasn’t quite far off the mark.   
  
Since things tended to happen to Bilbo on Mersdays and the poor Hobbit rather admitted to himself that he could never get the hang of them, it was again, on a Mersday, that the Shire got all excited at the arrival of three more Dwarves.   
  
It must be admitted that they made a rather striking sight as they came up on the Road, riding on their ponies.   
  
Several of the Shire’s young hobbit-maidens sighed over the fact that the two younger Dwarves were very dashing and attractive.  Inevitably, there was much giggling when the duo slanted mischievous smiles and winks in their direction.   
  
Primula Baggins, Roane Cotton and the Widow Phynn all took note of the older, sable-haired Dwarf and observed that it was rather obvious where the two younger Dwarves got their good looks from.   
  
From the stories shared by the Dwarves who had arrived earlier and judging from Bilbo’s rather _interesting_ reactions when a certain Dwarf’s name was mentioned or was described by Balin, the ladies had a very _good_ idea who this Dwarf was.   
  
“Oh dear,”  the Widow Phynn sighed.  “Poor Bilbo - _that_ one is trouble and no mistake.”

“ _Welcome_ trouble, I should think,” said Roane Cotton, with a poorly disguised giggle. Oh she shouldn’t, she knew, but it was rather hard _not_ to feel like a twitterpated maiden all over again, not with these particular Dwarves and _especially_ the older one.  

Primula sniffed, still feeling very protective and outraged on behalf of her cousin.  “Trouble that I ought to introduce my very best wooden spoon to, for all the grief _he’s_ caused - “

“Prim!” The Widow chided.   
  
“She is right - Bilbo ought to make him work for it and I dare say that would be a lot of fun,” cackled Roane.   
  
Both Primula and the Widow blushed and like the rest of the Shire, they all settled down to watch what would be a Very Interesting Series of Events.   
  
Bilbo was glad to welcome the younger Dwarves - Fili and Kili - and they in turn greeted him with hearty embraces.  He was, however, stiff and formal with their Uncle, Thorin, polite almost to a fault.     
  
If the heartbreak and sorrow in Bilbo was painfully obvious to all to see, it was mirrored in much the exact same way in Thorin Oakenshield, for all his grave and regal demeanor.   
  
Bifur finally growled something out in Khuzdul while the Hobbits and the Dwarves were having pints over at the Green Dragon.   
  
“Aye,” said Hamfast Gamgee, who somehow managed to understand what the Dwarf was saying.  “It might not be as bad an idea as that.”  
  
“Locking Bilbo and Thorin in a room together won’t work, as tempting as that may be,” said Fili, who was, amazingly, attempting to be the sole Voice of Reason here.   
  
“But they’ve already talked and exchanged apologies and all that other nonsense,” Kili complained.  “They’re _still_ not all right!”   
  
“Lad, we must be patient,” said Balin.  “And it’s a tricky business, as well. These things take time to mend.” 

Now for Dwarves, precious jewels and stones were often used for this kind of situation and for the Dwarves, there was no doubt of the sincerity of the intentions from Certain Parties.  But Hobbits, of course, are different and while the two races _did_ share certain types of gifts in common, Hobbits did so love simplicity and plain truth after all.   
  
It was little Bellflower Cotton, of all people, who may have been responsible for the next sequence of events. 

Most of the Hobbit children were rather awed by Thorin Oakenshield.  They took to Fili and Kili quite easily and the younger Dwarves were only too happy to play with little hobbitlings for most of the day.  Thorin was a different matter, though.  But as little Bellflower put it, she was quite won over by the older Dwarf when she fearlessly went up to him and he smiled at her.   
  
“His smile is like magic,” she had told her mother Roane much later.  The tiny hobbit girl took the great Dwarf under her wing and Thorin spent an entire afternoon in the Shire learning about flowers.   
  
And this explained the sudden appearance of certain kinds of flowers, left at the front door of Bag End.  Hobbits know their flowers and they noted the messages of sorrow and grief, regret and apology in those blooms.  There were also flowers that conveyed admiration and respect, constancy and loyalty.   
  
And even Primula, who was, quite understandably, very protective of her cousin, couldn’t help but sigh on the day a bouquet of the reddest carnations appeared on Bilbo’s doorstep and in the middle of these was one single red rose. 

Bilbo never threw the blooms out and while he said nothing to anyone, it was rather telling that the carnations and rose were placed very carefully in his mother’s best vase and displayed quite prominently on his window sill. 

The Hobbits were not sure what to make of Thorin at first, other than the admiring glances slanted his way, as he was, after all, a very handsome Dwarf.  He was not as stand-offish as he first appeared, as he had proved when Fili and Kili dragged him over to the Green Dragon for pints and was prevailed to share stories of his own and he did, to everyone’s surprise and delight.   Old Gammer Violet and her granddaughter Marjorie Hornblower declared him to be an absolute gentledwarf, when he’d assisted them home after the older hobbit fell in the marketplace and twisted her ankle. 

And as Bellflower had observed, when Thorin  _did_ smile and lose his customary serious expression, most of the Hobbits found themselves losing their earlier caution and awe. 

It was noted, with great amusement, amongst Dwarves and Hobbits, that tiny Bellflower seemed to feel herself responsible for Thorin and it was rather obvious that the regal-looking Dwarf did not mind being adopted by a little hobbit girl.  Thus, a certain conversation happened, which Mrs. Roane Cotton was privileged to overhear, being as it happened just outside her kitchen window.   
  
“You ought to sing then,” declared Bellflower. 

“Sing?” rumbled Thorin.   
  
“You’ve got a lovely voice, I heard you,” said the little girl.  “Me Mam says that’s how she knew what she felt for my Da - he’s got a lovely voice too.”  
  
“I do not know any Hobbit songs,” said Thorin, though he smiled and it was obvious he was giving the matter serious consideration.   
  
“You could make one up, can’t you?” Bellflower said earnestly.  “I make up my own songs all the time.  It’s fun!”  
  
There was a muffled snort from the kitchen which the two conversing studiously ignored.   
  
“You are a very wise little girl,” Thorin declared.  “And far wiser than many advisers to kings that I’ve known.”  
  
“What’s an adviser?”   
  
“A job that will be waiting for you, once you’re old enough for your Mam to let you leave home,”  Thorin chuckled.  “That is, if you’re willing to go on an adventure, just like your Mister Bilbo.”   
  
“I should like that very much!”  And then, Bellflower added, “The only thing is that sometimes, if somebody doesn’t like the singing, they’re perfectly entitled to throw a bucket of cold water over the singer.  But I don’t think you ought to worry about that - I’m sure Mister Bilbo will like it.”  
  
At that point, the muffled snorts coming from the kitchen of Mrs. Roane Cotton turned into poorly-disguised giggling.   
  
The hands of Thorin Oakenshield are very skilled - with hammer and tongs at the forge, wielding sword and axe in battle - all skills that one might expect of a Dwarf, especially one like Thorin.  However, those hands, battle-and-forge scarred as they are, were also perfectly capable of coaxing music from a harp.   
  
And that was what Thorin did, one fine evening in the Shire, sitting just outside Bilbo’s door.  He sang a song of his own making, a beautiful melody of heartbreak and sorrow, grief and regret, deep love and longing, all threaded through with yearning and a certain hope, a plea for a second chance, another beginning.   
  
Little Bellflower was quite right.  Thorin did have a lovely voice.   
  
There were, in fact, rather audible sniffles as Hobbits and Dwarves all over tried to be invisible.  Though that was rather difficult, considering there was only one Hobbit in the Shire possessed of a magic ring that could grant that kind of ability.   
  
At the end of Thorin’s song, Bilbo opened his door.  
  
Dwarves and Hobbits alike were rather relieved he wasn’t holding on to a bucket of cold water.   
  
If Bilbo’s eyes were suspiciously bright, nobody was going to point it out at this stage.  He took a shaky breath and spoke.  
  
“That is not fair.”  
  
“What is?”  Thorin asked.   
  
“You know perfectly well,” Bilbo answered, waving his hands in the air.  “This entire business, what you’re doing, this isn’t fair, not at all - “  
  
Thorin stood up, walked over to him, caught those wildly waving hands.  He pressed a kiss into Bilbo’s palm and said, “I was told that if you still meant to tell me no, then I should expect a bucket of cold water to be thrown over me.  If that is what you intend, do it now and I shall leave you in peace, no matter how much sorrow it may bring me.”  
  
For an answer, Bilbo drew him down for a kiss, which drew some delighted cheers from nosy neighbors and friends, a “Thank Mahal they came to their senses!” from Kili and the unmistakable clinging of coins as money was exchanged.  Thorin and Bilbo paid them no attention, being as they were too busy kissing at the moment.   
  
But finally, Bilbo drew back from his Dwarf, took a quick look at his over-curious, if genuinely happy neighbors and friends and loudly told them to “Mind your own bloody business!” though the silly smile on his face softened the words.  And at that, he took Thorin’s hand, led him back inside Bag End and firmly closed the door.   
  
The wedding of Bilbo Baggins, a Baggins of Bag End to Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, was celebrated with a week-long feast beneath the Party Tree.  There was good food, a veritable flood of ale and wine, music and dancing and most of all, a great deal of joy. Gandalf the Grey arrived just in time to bless the marriage and to provide fireworks.  Many agreed that the specific firework he had that suddenly turned into a Dragon before it turned into bright falling stars was absolutely splendid and a wonder. 

It was expected that the event would be the talk of the Shire for a good year.   
  
But in fact, that is a story still being told even today, with Eldarion Elessar’s son ruling in Gondor and the Ringbearers, including a certain Dwarven King and a Dwarf Elf-friend, having sailed over the seas to Valinor.  King Fili is now old enough to see his great-grandchildren and even in Erebor, they continue to tell the story of how a hobbit came back from his adventure with thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard and how a Dwarven King came to the Shire to mend his broken heart and court back his forgiveness and his love.   
  
And in the Shire, young lovers still sing to their sweethearts and if their song is beautiful and their love is true, they won’t have to fear anything from buckets of cold water.  
  
 _\- end -_

**Author's Note:**

>  **Note:** OH. MY. GOD.  My only excuse is that the Bagginshield Ship needs ALLLLLLLLLLL the Fluff and AU’s it can get and I’m contributing to the madness.
> 
> **Note the Second:** If certain Shameless Richard Armitage-loving Hussies on my Dashboard recognize themselves in this fic *koffkoff* please to know it was ENTIRELY deliberate.  :P 
> 
> **Note the Third:** The serenade is a time-honored courting ritual amongst us Filipinos as well though it’s a long running joke that if this is done during a Filipino romantic movie, the singing swain may expect to be doused with a bucket of cold water.  Usually by the over-protective parents.  I just couldn’t resist it for this story. 
> 
>  


End file.
